


a weight in the air

by vindicatedtruth (behindtintedglass)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, inspired by both art and music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 20:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14626176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: "I'm fine, Harold."





	a weight in the air

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this beautiful art](http://riza-nusdy.tumblr.com/post/108907958355/poi-rinch) and [this heartrending song](https://youtu.be/B6qkBt8SzRU).

 

 

 

* * *

 

_Didn’t I tell you_   
_You were gonna break down_   
_Didn’t I warn you?_   
_Didn’t I warn you?_

He balls his hands tightly into fists, unsure of what he wants at the moment: to hold John, to cling to him, to punch him, to never let him go.

“I’m fine, Harold,” the man has the gall to whisper into his ear, and anger rises, swift and fierce, to mingle with choking fear and terrible need.

_Tell me what you’re needing_   
_Give into your bleeding_   
_Never any feeling for yourself_

_“_ Tell me, Mr. Reese,” he hisses between gritted teeth, tasting the blood in his mouth, “am I truly that terrible of a boss?”

He feels John stiffen against him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, pushing back the flame of hot tears as he swallows against the lump blocking his throat.

“Has there been any moment during our  _acquaintance_ ,” he nearly laughs at the word, bitter and vile, “when I made you feel like you were _dispensable_?”

He feels something wet drop onto the back of his hands, and he realises two things at once: his hands have migrated of their own accord to clutch at John’s lapels like a lifeline, and he is ashamed to find that he’s crying against John’s shirt.

_We build it up_   
_We tear it down_   
_We leave our pieces on the ground_

He ignores the sharp burst of pain at his hip as John winds his arms around his waist, pulling him flush against his own broken body, tight and unrelenting.  The people at the laundry service are going to have a field day with how John is smearing blood all over his expensive three-piece suit.  Maybe he should just burn it.

Maybe he should just let the world burn if it means keeping John _safe_.

_We see no end  
_ _We don’t know how_

He doesn’t know how John manages it given the state of his injuries, but his hand is steady as he threads through Harold’s spiky hair, fingers spread like a web to encompass the back of his head, wrist pressing against Harold’s nape as he gently tilts Harold’s face up.

There’s a cut on his lip; blood smears Harold’s skin as John presses a kiss to Harold’s forehead with a quiet sigh.

“You really should have more confidence in my ability to survive, Harold.”

_We are lost and we’re falling_

He narrows his eyes as he looks up at him.  He cups John’s face between both of his palms; he swipes his thumb at the blood dribbling at the corner of John’s mouth.

“And you, John,” he declares, dangerously quiet, teetering on the edge of collapse, feeling his heart give out, give _in:_  “You are overestimating my ability to survive without you.”

_Hold onto me_   
_You’re all I have_   
_All I have_

 

 


End file.
